


Pulling Teeth

by motelsamndean (whalesandfails)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Weecest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 22:00:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20365774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whalesandfails/pseuds/motelsamndean
Summary: Prompt to say-yes-to-hole on tumblr: "God, I'd love for someone to write about Dean getting his wisdom teeth removed, like the aftermath of him being all hopped up on drugs, or Sam. Either one. I'd be so incredibly happy."





	Pulling Teeth

The Winchesters would roll into town once in a blue moon and Dr. Mitch Murphy would rearrange his schedule to get them in. Not only were they family for him and his brother, but they were two teenage boys and a grieving father who didn’t get their teeth checked nearly enough. Jim would provide a warm meal and clean sheets, Mitch would provide a clean mouth. 

The last time he had the ramshackle family in his chair, they definitely fit into the single room much better. Now, the boys had shot up and Dean had started to fill out and their previously laughable codependence became a frustration when they refused to leave the room without each other. 

Mitch stared down into Dean’s mouth, Sam hovering over his shoulder, curious and something else Mitch couldn’t put his finger on. He turned to look at Sam, saw something gleam in his eyes as he stared at Dean he hadn’t seen last time the boys had visited. 

He thought he understood brotherhood and family, but these two teens and John always made him question it. Was he doing it right? Was it his responsibility to separate these people that acted more as extensions of each others’ limbs than functioning independent humans? 

Peering back into Dean’s mouth, Mitch noticed something he couldn’t ignore. Dean needed his wisdom teeth out. Now. Well, not now, about ten months ago. But Jim and Mitch hadn’t heard the impala roll into the churchyard for over two years. 

A breath they had both been holding was released that afternoon when they saw all three bodies hop out of the car able-bodied and a little grimy. Now, scrubbed clean and in the dentist’s chair, Mitch was grateful for the military resilience of the Winchesters and their adherence to routine, no matter how toxic or extreme they seemed to him. All three had great teeth. 

Except Dean needed his wisdom teeth out, they were coming in crooked and bumping up against his back-most molars, probably affecting his bite and would mess up that pretty boy smile sooner than later. 

“John, you got a hunt?” Mitch asked. 

John looked up from the rumpled local newspaper from a few counties over, hunched in the corner in the chair they dragged in from the waiting room. For all their flaws, the Winchesters were a constant presence in each others’ lives, were reliable. At least, as reliable as you could be putting your life on the line daily. Mitch wished he had this kind of security with someone, with anyone. What he had with Jim was stable, but he doubted there was a bond stretched so taught and so strong between them – would clothesline anyone that tried to stand between them – the way these three boys did. 

“Not quite yet,” John grunted out. 

“What have you sniffed out so far?”

John shrugged, “maybe a ghoul, couple ‘a spirits.” His eyes flashed, concern and curiosity written all over his face. 

Mitch said “nothing you’ll need Dean for? For let’s say…. A week or two?” 

Dean sat up, and Sam awoke from the half-asleep enraptured gaze he had settled on his brother. All three Winchesters were tuned into Mitch now. 

He waved them off. “Calm down, calm down. Dean just needs his wisdom teeth out. Bet it hurts to chow down on that sticky bubble gum you teens use, eh?” 

Dean rolled his eyes, but his shoulders relaxed again, along with Sam and John’s. 

\--

After a quick agreement to let Dean eat at least one of Jim’s meals before he wouldn’t be able to for a week, they all retreated back to the rectory and enjoyed a stew that had been bubbling on the stovetop for the better part of the afternoon. 

They filled each other in on the everyday things that had occurred since they last caught up, focus on the teenage boys – one who loved school, and one who clearly didn’t. And if Jim and Mitch sat together shoulders pressed a little too close, nobody said a word. And if anyone noticed the way Sam’s foot was hooked around Dean’s heel, nobody said anything about that either. 

After dinner, Jim and John retreated out to the porch to sip on whiskeys and tell old tales. They could hear Sam cleaning up inside, pots clanging, soapy water splashing onto the linoleum floor; and then the quiet shuffling of papers as he settled into his homework from his last school. 

“Staying long enough to enroll?” Jim asked John.

John nodded, “got a couple small jobs around these few states ‘m gonna clean up. Boys okay here?”

Jim just shoved his old friend lightly and didn’t answer. Sam and Dean were always welcome for as long as they needed, and they both knew it. Jim and Mitch loved the boys like they were their own children. But Jim saw the way the two boys looked at each other. 

“Listen, John.” He made sure he had his friend’s full attention. “If the boys are… because of Mitch and I, I-“ 

John cut him off with a grunt. Poured them both another two fingers of alcohol. “There are worse things” was all he said in response. 

They sat quiet after that, enjoying the peacefulness of knowing everyone was safe and accounted for, watched Mitch and Dean climb into the car and retreat into the distance. They stayed out until they couldn’t see the hands on their watches in the dim light, occasionally chattering in their old way, but mostly enjoying the peaceful moment. 

Jim stood up, joints creaking. He clapped John on the shoulder, “’f you wanna hang out for a few days before galivantin’ off, you know you can stay in Mitch’s room as long as you need.” 

John nodded, and looked out into the inky blackness of the night. He knew the room he normally stayed in would be left exactly like the last time he was here, that there would be a thin layer of dust over the furniture. It wasn’t his place to say anything to his old friend, so he just bid Jim goodnight and waited up for the dark to be illuminated with a flash of headlights, bringing his son home to him. 

\---

Sam heard the car pull up and jumped out of his seat. A few papers covered in scratches of practice algebra problems drifted slowly to the floor. He heard a scuffle outside and shot out the screen door to see Dad dragging Dean out of Uncle Mitch’s car, a slurring brother trying to weasel his way out of Dad’s grasp. 

Dean’s unfocused gaze slid over to Sam silhouetted against the door, and even in the dim light from the kitchen Dean recognized his baby brother’s mop. He wrenched himself away from Dad and swayed against Sam’s lean frame. “Sammy, I love you,” he slurred. 

Something cool settled in Sam’s gut. It was fear and a thrill at once, similar to what he felt when they were on hunts, but with less malice. He needed to get Dean upstairs, now. He was worried what else might slip out of his brother’s sinful mouth. There was a tense silence between everyone in the room, but Dean didn’t seem to notice. 

He heard Dad in the doorway – didn’t see Dad, vision full of Dean, full of freckles and tan muscular skin and green eyes – filled the quiet with a useless question. “All go okay, Mitch?”

“Yeah, all good, Dean just needs to sleep it off ‘s all. Change his gauze if it gets too bloody, Sam.” Uncle Mitch replied. 

Sam took that as his excuse to drag Dean upstairs, much more pliant with Sam’s arms wrapped around him than when Dad’s were. Sam struggled with the door to their room, armful of Dean making it difficult to grasp the knob. He leaned his brother against the doorframe and managed to open it with a shove of his shoulder. 

“Oooh, getting strong, Sammy” Dean murmured from behind his ear, breath sending a chill down his spine. Apparently Dean had regained some of his vision because gentle fingers followed the trail of his goosebumps, too hot press against Sam’s neck, down between his shoulder blades. 

Sam stepped away from his brother, could hear Uncle Mitch and Dad downstairs, Pastor Jim’s door firmly shut. He took out his frustration on Dean, his stupid drugged up brother forgot to be careful. He shoved him into the closet of a room, double bed taking up most of the space, shut the door quietly behind himself.

Dean flopped down onto the old mattress, springs protesting. Sam managed to get Dean’s boots off, but that was it before his hands were rudely getting shoved away. Dean was obstinate enough not to let Sam help him on the best of days, and the drugs he was on clearly weren’t resolving that personality trait. 

Resignedly, Sam shucked off his jeans and slid into the narrow bed next to his brother. Dean got the memo and tried to kick his own pants off, actually letting Sam help this time, mood changing in an instant. They rolled underneath of the covers, getting comfortable. 

Instead of their normal routine of backs to each other, sharp shoulder bones touching, Dean sprawled right on top of Sam, knocked the breath out of him.   
Sam lay flat on his back, brother sprawled all over him, overwhelming weight on his chest and in his heart. 

He was thinking about how Dean didn’t let them do this when his brother breathed out against his neck, pulling the thoughts right from his head. “Don’t have to always wait until I’m asleep until you cuddle me up, Sammy.”

“Its Sam,” he replied. Instinct. His heart thumped steadily in his chest. He grinned, pulled a hand up to run in through the short bristly hair against the base of Dean’s skull. “How’d you know I cuddle you when you’re asleep if you’re asleep?” 

Dean just grunted, and Sam thought that would be the end of the discussion until his brother opened his drug-fueled mouth. “Fake sleep s’metimes.” He nestled deeper between Sam’s legs. Sam would be turned on if it weren’t for the bloody drool pooling on his favourite Zep tee. But nothing would make him shove Dean away right now. 

Sam tried to set the timer on the ancient bedside alarm clock for a few hours later, gentle not to disturb his brother who was halfway to sleep already. He thought Dean wouldn’t notice him struggling with the alarm clock, but his brother swatted the machine halfway across the room. 

“No” Dean ground out. His voice more serious than when a monster was five feet away and thirsting for blood. Sam laughed wholeheartedly, shaking Dean on top of him. 

“Sam.” His brother said in an exasperated, sincere voice. He just laughed harder, Dean hoisted himself up onto his elbows on top of Sam, sharp elbows digging into his chest, face serious, sparse blonde eyebrows furrowed. 

And then Dean started to cry. 

He rolled away from Sam, pressed himself up against the wall, ugly crying sounds coming out of his nose, mouth clogged with gauze. Sam tried to school his features, tentatively reached out towards Dean. His shoulders shook, Sam had only seen him cry like this twice before, he didn’t know how to comfort his brother like this. 

He shushed gently, trying to keep Dean quiet. It was one thing to have him distressed and crying, another to wake up his Uncles and Dad and be seen crying by the three adults he looked up to the most. 

Dean shifted, turned around to face Sam again, but kept a gap between them. Laid his head on his two folded hands. “’M serious, Sammy” he sniffled out.

Sam didn’t correct him this time. Figured maybe he would have to meet Dean where he was at. “Okay. Okay, I know. No more, let’s just go to bed, ‘kay?”

Sam weaseled a leg between the two of Dean’s, burrowed his head between Dean’s raised arms. They both shuffled around, Dean wrapping one arm around Sam in a headlock, other sprawled over his ribs and to his back, Dean pulled Sam back against the wall, half leaning, tangled their legs more. Sam pressed both of his palms to Dean’s chest, could feel his brother’s heartbeat. 

“Sam,” Dean said. It was more than his name. It was an acknowledgement of what they meant to each other, what it would cost if they were ever apart. Something he didn’t say often enough, but didn’t really need to. Sam wouldn’t forget this night, even if Dean didn’t remember any of this clearly in the morning. Dean rubbed his snotty nose into Sam’s long hair, but really that didn’t stop the swell of emotion in Sam’s chest. He said Dean’s name back, whispering it into the cotton of Dean’s chest, saying it to Dean as much as to the room, to the whole house. 

He could hear Jim and Mitch murmuring in the next room over, was sure they were wound up in a similar way to Sam and Dean. The Murphy brothers forgot that they were trained to be observant. That they were trained to find peoples’ weak spots. That they were less scared the first time they touched because they saw what it could turn into if it worked out okay. That loving each other more than anyone in the whole world was just fine. 

Dad was already snoring one room over, would probably be gone in the morning, trusting Sam to look after Dean as he healed. They would worry about Dad, but a lot less than when he left them in motel rooms, Pastor Jim and Uncle Mitch knew how to distract the boys and abate their worrying. He’d come back. 

The house creaked around them, and Dean’s breath settled at last. Sam relaxed, content in his brother’s hold.

Sam knew the next morning he would go to the gas station and get candy on candy on candy, hoping to make his brother have a toothache that needed to be removed, because nothing was more lovely than his brother drugged out of his mind, only reaching out for Sam. It was a truth Sam didn’t know could be solidified more, but he wanted Dean like this every night for the rest of their lives.


End file.
